The Snow White Bride (20 page)

* * * * *

T
he castellan’s pallet
had been moved closer to the hearth, yet out of the way, the better to see him warm. Anthony must have been recovering, for he had braced himself on one elbow to watch the proceedings.

“You should use less saffron in the sauce,” he said to the cook. “It is cursed expensive and my lord is not wrought of coin.”

“If there is not sufficient saffron, the sauce will be thin and pale,” the cook argued. “Which will tell every guest that his presence at the laird’s table is not welcome.”

“But
still
…
”
Anthony argued.

“But still, the lady has ordered a saffron sauce!”

“But
still
…”
Anthony
persisted.

“But still,” the cook retorted, his voice rising with every word. “It is Christmas and the cost of saffron is of less import than a proper sauce!”

“Well said,” Alexander interjected.

Everyone in the kitchen straightened at his words and spun to face him, for they had been unaware of his presence.

The cook bowed deeply. “Good day, my lord. Would you review the menu for the morrow?”

“Has my lady wife discussed it with you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then I trust all is well.”

“Yes, my lord.” The cook waved at his minions and they scampered back to their labors. His wife chopped scallions with a vengeance, her lips tight with disapproval.

“Is there a matter of concern, Rose?” Alexander asked, and that woman took a fortifying breath.

“I would beg your leave, my lord, to speak freely.”

Alexander inclined his head. “Of course.” He feared that Rose would indict Eleanor as well, but she jabbed her knife in Anthony’s direction.

“If ever a man deserved another measure of what laid him low, there he be! All the day long he has counseled us upon what we know best how to do, and truly”—she waggled the blade with no small threat—“my patience thins.” She drew another breath and met Alexander’s gaze. “If it pleases my lord, it would also please us to have your castellan heal elsewhere.”

Alexander dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “My mother oft said that any man sufficiently hale to complain is sufficiently hale to rise from the sickbed.”

Rose smiled with satisfaction. “I always knew your mother to be wise beyond compare, my lord. God rest her soul.” And she crossed herself, that considerable blade yet in her hand.

“Use some care, Rose, or you will be bereft of a nose,” Alexander teased, and the cook’s wife laughed. He made his way to Anthony’s side and was pleased to see that the older man’s eyes gleamed and his color was good. “What say you, Anthony? Do you feel hale again?”

“I but await instruction from your lady wife, my lord, for she is beyond competent in such matters.” The older man beamed, his admiration for Eleanor clearly undiminished.
“The lady Eleanor insisted that she would look upon me this evening and I pledged to await her decision at that time.” The company in the kitchens groaned as one.

“Perhaps you might be persuaded to take a respite in the gre
at hall,” Alexander suggested. “
The Yule log bu
rn
s there, so the hall is almost as warm as the kitchens, and you can better supervise the replacement of the strewing herbs from there.”

“An excellent notion, my lord. I should not wish for your lady to find disfavor with such a simple matter.” The cook gestured and two young boys rushed to aid Anthony to rise to his feet. Alexander swallowed a smile at his impression that the castellan was being ushered out of the kitchen with haste. He winked at the cook as he accompanied the castellan, and the cook winked in return.

He knew he did not imagine the muted cheer that echoed in their wake.

“Women,” Anthony expounded, “have a most admirable affection for detail and your lady wife, true to this, specified very clearly which plants should be strewn in the hall. What foresight you show, my lord, in perceiving that I wished to be present to ensure that all was as she had commanded.” He heaved a sigh when he reached a bench and spared Alexander a glance. “Such a marvel of a woman, of course, must always endure jealous gossip at her own expense in her abode. It is a failure of human nature, after all, to despise those who are better than we ourselves.”

“
Truly?” Alexander asked. “What have you heard said against my lady wife?”

“I would not insult your ears with such petty detail, my lord.”

“I bid you tell me, Anthony. I will not surrender such tales to my lady, upon this you have no fear.”

The older man smiled. “You were always a most gallant man. Your father would be proud of you, my lord.” Alexander looked away, not certain he wished to speculate upon that notion.

The castellan cleared his throat. “It was Jeannie, my lord, who said the worst of it. I think her manner sour in the way of one who has been discredited. She was not present to aid me and resents the presence of one who knows as much of herbs as she does, to be
sure
…
”

“And what did Jeannie say?”

“That your lady did not save my life. Can you imagine the folly of that?” Anthony huffed in his outrage. “After your lady deigned to soil her own noble fingers—”

“But what did Jeannie mean?” Alexander interrupted him to ask.

“She said that if it had been a killing dose, I would have died regardless of what your lady did to assist me. She said that among toxins, aconite is most quick and it is fatal.” He held Alexander’s gaze. “You must recall, my lord, that Jeannie is aged and
bitter
…
”

“What else did she say?”

“She said that it must have been a warning, a measure inadequate to kill a man, but one solely meant to weaken him.”

Alexander tented his fingers together as he considered this. Why would any person wish him to be warned? And warned of what? He could not fathom such reasoning, for surely, if a man was wanted dead, there was no justification for a half-measure.

He smiled for Anthony. “I recall also that Jeannie is oft said to be mad.”

“Just so, my lord, just so.” Anthony smiled, reassured that he had not given offense, and Alexander left him to harass the maids who labored in the hall.

He needed to think, and to do so in the absence of his wife. Though the evidence against Eleanor was scant or nonexistent, the possibilities were sufficiently troubling. If Rhys was correct, then Alexander planting his seed in his lady’s belly might see his days numbered.

On the other hand, Rhys did not know all of Eleanor’s tale. Instinct told Alexander that Eleanor had need of his trust to see the wounds of her past healed, despite how evidence might be mustered against her. For the moment, he chose to avoid his lady and her copious charms.

Fortunately, he had duties aplenty to perform.

* * * * *

S
omething was amiss.

Eleanor could fairly smell it. She awakened alone in Alexander’s bed, and though she lingered there until the sky darkened, he did not return to her. She washed and dressed then and descended to the hall. Every person there greeted her politely, but their gazes danced away from hers. No one stayed by her side, though their manners could not be faulted.

It was wariness she sensed and Eleanor knew the reason for it. Only Anthony greeted her with what appeared to be genuine pleasure. He expressed gratitude for her aid and attention, though was clearly glad to be given leave to return to his duties.

And then Eleanor was alone again, as she had been alone for most of her days and nights. She checked upon the various tasks she had left requests to be done, though she knew full well what she would find. Every command she had granted had been fulfilled, every detail was organized as she had seen fit. Alexander’s hall was as well-managed as she could ensure, yet Alexander himself was notably absent.

She heard tell of him heading to the village, that he fulfilled some old tradition by accepting a cup of ale from the sheriff, and felt only disappointment that she had not been included. Doubtless he had not wished to awaken her, for Alexander was chivalrous to a fault, but Eleanor had a persistent sense that there was more to the tale.

His sisters invited her to share in their embroidery, but it was clear that they had each claimed a specific panel of the piece to highlight their own work. They chattered to each other of people she did not know and relations she had never met and past Yuletides that she had not shared. Eleanor knew that they did not mean to be cruel, but she was achingly aware that she was not customarily in their company.

And that as yet, she did not belong at Kinfairlie.

Vivienne’s two daughters, perhaps sensing her mood, demanded of her a tale, but Eleanor could only deny them. She did not know any tales, at least none suitable for such young girls. They professed astonishment at her ignorance with such youthful candor that she could not be offended, then returned to their mother, who did know many tales.

Once again, Eleanor found herself yearning for all she had not known in her days. Her father had had no patience with fanciful tales and her tutors had not spared the time on such fripperies, at his dictate.

She paced the hall with dissatisfaction, lacking some ingredient in the recipe for her own delight. That it was one she could readily name made little difference.

That it was the presence of a man should have been more troubling than it was.

Alexander remained absent until it was well past time to retire. Eleanor would not name his departure as her malady, for that
would imply that she already reli
ed upon him. After all, they had met abed already this day in the quest for their son, so it was of little import if she did not encounter him.

So reason informed her, but still she found herself seeking a glimpse of his merry smile and glancing up whenever the portal to the bailey was opened.

Surely she could not miss her handsome husband so soon after their nuptials, so soon after they had met? Surely she had not been so beguiled by a man’s charm that she had forgotten her own determination to rely on no one?

All the same, it was only after every other soul in Kinfairlie had retired that Eleanor climbed the stairs to the laird’s chamber. The chamber was cold and lonely without the prospect of hearing Alexander’s chuckle, though Anthony had kindled blazes in no less than three braziers. Eleanor shed her garb and climbed into the great, cold bed, listening, listening long into the night.

* * * * *

A
n
afternoon, a night,
and a morning without her husband’s presence told Eleanor the truth. She had been
judged and found guilty of trying to poison him, even by this man reputed to be just. Eleanor was disappointed, though she called herself a fool for desiring more of him.

That she would never have expected more from a spouse before meeting Alexander, that he had tainted her thoughts so quickly as this, was nigh too frightening to contemplate.

What else had he changed?

Her expectations abed, to be sure. Eleanor knew that she would never again be able to lie meekly beneath a man laboring for his own pleasure, counting the folds in the draperies upon the bed until he finished his deed.

She descended to the hall, for there were guests departing this day and she would not fail in her duties. Her heart skipped at the first sight of her spouse, who waited at the base of the stairs for her. Eleanor greedily devoured the sight of him, that his hair was yet damp against his collar, that he had changed his chemise. He wore a dark tabard and chausses, as was his custom, the orb of Kinfairlie’s heraldic device fairly glowing against the dark wool of his tabard. His tall boots gleamed and a fur-lined cloak hung over his shoulders.

He looked up at her and she halted on the stairs. She noted that his color was less than it had been, that there were shadows beneath his eyes, and she dared to hope that he, too, had slept poorly alone. Alexander’s grim countenance gave no encouragement to that, though, and Eleanor feared that the awe with which he had first regarded her was banished forevermore.

She was heartsick at the change in her husband, for he was merry no longer. It was worse to know that her own history was responsible. It helped little that she tingled in
his very presence, that she yearned to touch him boldly again, that she wanted nothing more than his heat within her.

That was untrue. Eleanor desired Alexander’s smile more than his affection abed. And she wanted to see the glimmer of starlight in his eyes.

But Alexander had no smile for her. He took her hand at the foot of the stairs and placed it within his elbow; his manners perfect, though his manner was cold.

“I trust all is well at the sheriff’s abode,” Eleanor said, feeling the need to exchange some words with him.

“Well enough," he acknowledged, and she ached for a jest or a wink from this formerly teasing man.

“I heard that you shared a cup with him last evening.”

“It is custom.”

Eleanor walked beside her spouse, wondering whether she imagined that whispers flew through the
gathered company. Anna, the ostl
er’s daughter, smirked at her, as if only biding her time before she claimed the laird’s attention. Alexander did not spare Eleanor the slightest glance.

To be fair, he had defended her often, more than any other man had ever done. To be unfair, that only made the injustice of his current restraint sting all the more.

They reached the bailey, where the parties destined for Blackleith and Caerwyn waited. The horses were res
tl
ess, all riders dressed both somberly and warmly.

Alexander spared a glance for the sky and Eleanor followed his gaze. It was overcast, a winter sky, but not so dark that rain or snow would fall soon. The wind was light, tinged with the salt of the sea.

She liked that Alexander was concerned for the welfare of his guests and his sisters, even when they left his
hall. He was protective of those he believed himself obliged to protect, or perhaps he was protective of those who held his affections.

Eleanor yearned fiercely to be in their company.

Anthony brought the stirrup cup, a massive chalice cast in bronze and brimming with wine. He handed it to Eleanor, which confirmed her place in the household to all. He also smiled at her, the only person to do so, and Eleanor found herself grateful for his kindness. She realized then that the censure she felt from Alexander’s household was a protectiveness of the laird by his vassals and tenants.

And its root was the same: these people held Alexander in affection and would not suffer any threat to his health. For that, she could scarce blame them.

Eleanor sipped of the cup’s contents first, as was proper, and a familiar sweet scent assailed her. A hundred memories were conjured by the smell, each and every one of them prompting her tears. Eleanor had offered the stirrup cup for her father so many times when he rode to battle, and feared so many times that he would not return and she would be left even more alone than already she was. The scent recalled, too, the fear of her own departures, her summons to unknown men at altars far away.

The scent was bitter, or at least the memories it summoned were so.

Eleanor took a deep breath, banishing her past, and smiled for the castellan. “You have flavored it with sweet woodruff,” she said graciously, and he nodded. “That is the perfect touch for sending travelers upon their way, for its scent makes a heart merry.” It was a lie in her case, though she had oft heard others say as much.

Anthony did not question her assessment. Indeed, the tips of the castellan’s ears turned slightly pink, as if he were flustered by her praise. “I thank you, my lady. I merely do my best.”

Eleanor turned and offered the cup to Alexander. He watched her as she lifted it to his lips, his gaze so bright that she knew he had not missed her response.

“Does it make you merry?” he asked quietly.

Eleanor shook her head ever so slightly, startled yet again by his perceptiveness. “Departures cannot be merry for those left behind,” she responded, her words as soft as his had been.

She pivoted before Alexander could speak and offered the cup to Rhys. That man hesitated ever so slightly before he accepted the chalice.

“Rhys!” Madeline chided in an undertone.

“Eleanor is my lady wife,” Alexander said, his words cold. “And I will thank you to show her the respect due to her in our abode.”

Madeline caught her breath and looked between the men, but Rhys took the cup. Eleanor knew she was not the only one who noted how his eyes had narrowed, no less how he sniffed the cup’s contents before he sipped of it.

Eleanor looked away from his cool gaze, her heart thumping in her chest. Had Alexander defended her because he knew the truth? Had it been only duty that had kept him from her side? Or did he insist simply upon courtesy being shown where it was due?

She did not know and she was surprised to find herself fearful of the truth. She looked in every direction, save that of her husband, for she feared to find disapproval in
his eyes, and thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the jostling company. It was a face she had not expected to see again.

Moira? Moira was here?

Moira’s presence would be heaven-sent in this moment!

Eleanor peered avidly into the milling company, seeking another glimpse of her faithful maid. But there were only the faces of strangers, any one of whom could have been confused for Moira with a momentary glimpse.

It was undoubtedly the sweet woodruff, the scent of memory, that conjured a familiar sight as well. Moira, after all, had oft been fast at her side when Eleanor had sipped of such a cup. Bu
t now Moira was safely at Tivot
dale, where Eleanor had left her, where she would be fed and housed and would continue to serve. There was no cause to worry for a soul so competent as Moira.

Those tears mustered in Eleanor’s eyes again, though she tried to blink them away. The company stood in awkward silence as Rhys passed the cup to his lady wife.

Rhys’s steed nuzzled Eleanor’s shoulder and in her loneliness she turned away from Rhys’s wary perusal to offer her hand to the horse. The destrier nuzzled her palm and she smiled at the softness of its nose.

“My every treasure for an apple,” she murmured, and looked up to find Madeline smiling at her. Madeline sipped of the cup’s contents without hesitation, ignoring her husband’s slight frown. Rhys’s horse nibbled at Eleanor’s hair to regain her attention and she smiled despite herself.

She passed the cup then to Erik and Vivienne in turn, stroking the noses of their horses as well. It had always
soothed her to be with horses and she recalled how often she had ridden simply to find escape from her situation.

Inevitably she recalled a horrific incident in Millard’s abode, and bile rose in her throat. She turned abruptly away from Vivienne and carried the cup back to Alexander, the pain of betrayal as raw as when it had been new.

Alexander took the chalice, then held it to her lips. “Who has left you so oft that you are yet saddened?” he asked when the wine touched her lips and she could not step away.

“It would be quicker to recount those who have not abandoned me,” she said; then Father Malachy called his blessing. She sensed that her husband would have asked her more, but he had no chance to do so.

And truly, she was in no mood to protect her secrets from his scrutiny. A mere three days she had known him and that was little enough to prompt her to trust him fully. Had she lost her wits? Millard had been kind for a year!

“Ride in haste and fair weather!” Alexander cried, holding the cup high. “And return to us soon, in good health!”

“Amen!” the company cried; then the men whistled to their parties. Two dozen horses of varying hues of brown turned, their tails flicking, and cantered from the bailey. Rhys and Madeline led one party, Erik and Vivienne the Other, each followed by squires and maids and palfreys loaded with trunks.

Erik’s two little girls rode with their parents, the eldest cosseted in Erik’s lap, the youngest with Vivi
enne. They w
aved with such vigor that they might have fallen from the saddles, had their parents not held them so fast. On
a
nother day, the sight of their enthusiasm might have
m
ade Eleanor smile.

Both parties passed through the cluster of villagers, Madeline and Vivienne accepting their good wishes; then they passed through the old walls. The sisters blew kisses to each other, then to the party before Kinfairlie’s doors. Alexander waved, as did his younger sisters, who also shouted farewells. The group divided into two groups, one headed north and one south, and the horses broke into a thundering run.

Kinfairlie’s household stood before that keep’s portal until the last echo of hoofbeats had faded; then Alexander offered Eleanor his hand once more. His gesture was no more than one of courtesy, she could see, for caution still lurked in his eyes, but he was the husband she had and the husband she had chosen.

It was her duty to regain his trust. Eleanor knew that there were matters well worth the battle to win them and she believed that Alexander’s trust was one of them. She knew that she was not without the burden of her past, and she knew it was not in her nature to trust readily.

But she was prepared to try to make a good marriage of this, even to try to create one so wondrous as the one Alexander said he sought.

Further, Eleanor knew how best to begin in seeking such a match. There was one matter, at least, that was simple between herself and Alexander, and confidences were more readily exchanged abed and in privacy.

Feeling uncommonly bold, but knowing that all was at stake, Eleanor lifted Alexander’s hand and kissed his knuckles, knowing that she did not imagine how he caught his breath. It was encouraging to have that slight sign that he thought her to be possessed of some allure.

“I missed you last night, my lord,” she murmured for
his ears alone, and Alexander met her gaze. “The bed was cold without your presence.”

Alexander’s eyes, to her dismay, narrowed. “Then perhaps you should have Anthony light another brazier for you this night,” he said, his tone so even that they might have been discussing the weather, not his absence from her bed. “I have duties through the new year to attend. I trust that you will find some matter to occupy you in these days.”

With no more than that, he left her. He turned crisply away, summoning Anthony and one of his squires as he strode through Kinfairlie’s hall as Eleanor yearned after him.

And true to his word, Alexander did not return to the hall that night.